


Healing

by makethestorylast



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic John McNamara, Autistic Wilbur Cross, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, M/M, Multi, Supportive Boyfriend/Husband Xander Lee, based on personal experience, but he's gonna be okay in the end, detailed description of sensory overload/shutdown, mentions of not eating/sleeping/drinking water, wilbur is having a Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makethestorylast/pseuds/makethestorylast
Summary: Four months. Four months since he'd come out of the portal. Wiggly's hold was fading, Wilbur was healing, so why was he still struggling so much?Big thanks to the P3IP server as always for putting up with me through the writing process. Lomve u guys <3(Dr. Tudor is a character created by OTPGirl. Go read their work, it's very good!)
Relationships: Wilbur Cross/Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> CW // Descriptions of sensory overload/shutdown, mentions of not eating/sleeping

Wilbur was in the infirmary again. It’d been four months now, and he was spending more time in an infirmary bed than out. Between testing and evaluating and the everyday injuries that came with the job, he was starting to get far too familiar with the clinical lights and white walls.

Of course, more often than not, he didn’t _intend_ to end up there. Not that anyone does, of course, but as of late, it wasn’t injuries or testing bringing him in. No, it would be lightheadedness or passing out, something that snuck on him without warning. And every time he would get the same answer, whether from Dr. Tudor or John and Xander or whatever poor sympathetic nurse came in to check on him.

“You need to be eating.”

“You need to be sleeping.” 

“You need to drink enough water.”

The same chorus every time. Eat when you’re hungry. Drink when you’re thirsty. Sleep when you’re tired. He knew these things. Of course he did. And when he first came out of the portal, when he first collapsed on the cold tile of Xander’s lab, neglecting food and water and sleep for days at a time, they told him it wasn’t his fault. The Black and White messes with your perception, makes it hard to decipher those things. But it’d been _four months._ Everything else was fading. Wiggly’s voice was going quiet, his incessant draw to the portal was ebbing away, but he was still struggling. He was supposed to be healing, everything was supposed to be okay, so why was he still broken?

“Hey, Wil.” He felt someone squeeze his hand and looked over at John, who sat in a chair next to the bed. He gave Wilbur a small smile. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said, pulling John’s hand over his chest.

“Xander’s still in the lab, he’s in the middle of a project. Told me to apologize that he couldn’t make it.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be out of here soon anyway.”

“That’s only any good if you _stay_ out, you know that, right?” John teased with a grin.

“Sorry,” he whispered. And he was, really. Because this should be over, and he should be okay. John and Xander shouldn’t have to worry about this anymore. Everything was supposed to be back to normal.

(Well, of course, as normal as it could be. 13 years ago he sure as hell wouldn’t have thought dating his now ex-husband and his ex-husband’s _new_ husband would be normal. Not that he’s complaining.)

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Wil. It’s not your fault, we all know that. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He brought John’s hand from his chest to his lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles, and watched his face go red with a satisfied grin. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, looking down in a vain attempt to hide his blush. “Why don’t you get some rest, dear? I’ll be right here.”

“I’m not tired,” he replied, pulling John’s hand back down to rest on his chest again. “And I like talking to you.”

“Wil, we both know—”

“I know. I’m a shitty judge of that. But I don’t think I can fall asleep right now anyway.”

“Try? Just for a few hours?” John bargained. “I’ll stay with you.”

Wilbur laid back against the cold pillow and sighed. He knew he needed to sleep, of course he did. But he just wanted to go home. He squeezed John’s hand.

“Do you know how long until I’m out of here?”

“They want to send you home tonight,” John replied, clearly trying to keep his tone light.

“I sense a ‘but’.”

John smiled. “They want one of us to stay with you for at least a day. But that’s alright, I’m happy to stay with you.”

“You don’t have to, they can keep me—”

“Wil,” John interrupted. “Really, it’s okay. I’m happy to stay with you,” he repeated, “and I know you don’t want to be here.”

John was right, of course. He knew Wilbur better than anyone. But that didn’t stop the wave of guilt that washed over him. He shouldn’t be burdening John like this—

No, he reminded himself. He’s not a burden. He pushed aside the nagging voice that whispered, asking him if he was _sure_ , and smiled at John.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and John’s eyes lit up with something Wilbur couldn’t describe. “What?” John just laughed lightly, so Wilbur asked again, “What? What is it?”

“I’m just… I’m proud of you,” John whispered with a grin. 

“I didn’t say any of that out loud, did I?”

“No, but it was pretty clear on your face.” John pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’ve been doing so well lately. Why don’t you rest for a bit—”

“Johnathan…”

“Wilbur.” John held up a hand to cut off his protests before they could even begin. “Just a little bit, dear, and I’ll talk to Dr. Tudor about possibly letting you come home early. But only if you get some sleep.” He glared at Wilbur, but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, giving him away.

“Stay until I’m asleep?”

“Of course, dear.” John pulled the chair closer as Wilbur shifted onto his side. He closed his eyes and felt one of John’s hands card through his hair as he drifted off to sleep much faster than he expected.

* * *

John must’ve been able to talk Dr. Tudor into something because when Wilbur woke up to John gently shaking him, only two hours had passed. “C’mon Wil, we’re going home.”

“Hmm?” He blinked, not quite awake.

“Dr. Tudor released you, we’re going home. You need help up?” John held out a hand for Wilbur to grab, but he shook his head and stubbornly pushed himself to his feet. 

They went home in near silence, Wilbur focused mainly on staying awake, and when they finally pushed through the door, he didn’t even hesitate before collapsing on the couch, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“So, not tired, huh?” John teased, sitting at the other end of the couch and reaching out to pat Wilbur’s arm.

“Shut up,” Wilbur mumbled, swatting John’s hand away playfully. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” Wilbur shook his head, settling himself further into the couch.

“If I sleep now I won’t sleep tonight.”

“Wil…”

Wilbur opened his eyes and saw John looking over at him, brows knitted in concern. “I’ll sleep tonight, I promise.”

John scooted in closer, resting his head on Wilbur’s shoulder. “I’m worried about you, y’know. _We’re_ worried about you.”

“Sorry.”

”S’not something you have to apologize for, Wil.”

“Well what else do you want me to do?” he joked, but it came out more serious than he intended.

“Tell us what’s wrong,” John answered. Wilbur looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes, but John tugged his arm to catch his attention. “We want to help. You don’t have to shut us out.”

“I know.” He swallowed, glancing away from John again. “I know. I just… I don’t know.”

John shifted beside him. “You don’t have to tell me now, I’m sorry if I pushed you.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay. I don’t… I _want_ to tell you, I’m trying, but I don’t know _how._ ”

They sat in silence for a moment. Wilbur rhythmically tapped his hand against his leg, not wanting to break the silence despite how much it was weighing on him. In the end, John was the one to speak up.

“Do you want to wait until Xander gets home?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

John didn’t respond, he just leaned into Wilbur’s side, bringing his knees to his chest. Wilbur froze for a second, then reached an arm around John’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

It wasn’t that Wilbur didn’t want to talk. He _did,_ that wasn’t a lie. He just didn’t know where to start. Everything felt jumbled _all the time_ , and trying to pin down a starting point was like trying to capture the wind in a bottle. He sat there, John at his side, desperately trying to cling to a coherent thought, forcing words into what he was feeling, but just the attempt had him on the verge of tears.

John must’ve noticed how stressed he looked, or maybe he _could_ read Wilbur’s thoughts, because suddenly he pulled away from Wilbur and moved to sit on his lap, cupping his face in his hands.

“Hey,” Wilbur whispered, his face only a few inches away from John’s.

“Hey,” John murmured back with a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Wilbur reached forward and pressed a kiss to John’s cheek, but when he pulled away, John moved to kiss his lips, leaning into Wilbur’s chest and moving one hand around the back of his head to pull him closer. 

When John finally pulled back to breathe, he shifted, pressing his head into the crook of Wilbur’s neck and moving his hand to idly play with a strand of Wilbur’s hair that hung in his face. “I love you,” he mumbled into Wilbur’s neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much.”

* * *

Wilbur didn’t plan to fall asleep again, but when the front door closed, he jumped, eyes shooting open, and almost accidentally pushed John to the ground. He stretched his arms up, tilting his head to try and work out the crick in his neck, and turned to see Xander standing just inside the door, still kicking off his shoes.

“Hey,” Xander said brightly, having just turned his head to see Wilbur. “Sorry I couldn’t stop by today, I was swamped with—”

“John told me,” Wilbur interrupted with a smile. “I wasn’t there long anyway.”

Xander walked over, sitting next to Wilbur and leaning on his shoulder, reaching a hand out to gently shake John awake. He blinked and pulled back from Wilbur’s chest, giving him a tired smile before shifting to press a kiss to Xander’s cheek.

“Welcome home,” he mumbled, moving to sit on Wilbur’s other side. Xander rested his head against Wilbur’s shoulder.

“Do we have a plan for dinner yet? Or did you two fall asleep as soon as you got home?” Guilt washed over Wilbur. He couldn’t ever think about anyone but himself, could he? Why did they even keep him around?

“Sorry,” he whispered, hurriedly trying to blink back tears. He couldn’t let them see he was upset, he didn’t want them to worry, they shouldn’t _have_ to worry—

“Wilbur? Are you alright?” Xander asked softly. A hand cupped Wilbur’s cheek and brushed away his tears. “I was just teasing you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come off as me being angry at you. I’m not, I promise.”

Wilbur pulled Xander’s hand away from his face and squeezed it. More than anything, he was trying to reassure himself. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Xander replied with a frown. He sounded far away. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His mind screamed, yes, _yes,_ that’s _exactly_ what he wanted, but the words wouldn’t come. He choked out another “I’m fine.”

“Wil.” John grabbed his hand and Wilbur had to restrain himself from flinching back. This was his _partner_ , dammit, why was he acting like this? “Do you want me—?”

Wilbur cut him off, shaking his head. He needed to do this, he _needed_ to, but the words weren’t there. He was fishing for something, _anything,_ and coming up empty-handed. He didn’t have the words, but neither did anyone else. It had to be him. If he could just _do it—_

“Why don’t we have dinner?” Xander said, interrupting his spiral. “And then we can go from there. Okay?”

Dinner. Right, he could do that. Something for him to do, he could get up, move around, he could focus on something else for a bit. He could be _useful._ Wilbur nodded and pushed himself off the couch, but Xander pulled him back down.

“We can take care of it,” John said. He pressed a kiss to Wilbur’s cheek and stood up. “You need to rest, alright?”

Wilbur absentmindedly reached his hand up to brush at his cheek, almost like he was trying to scrape away the feeling of the kiss. He didn’t move to get up again. This was alright. He was alright. Xander gently squeezed his shoulder as they both left for the kitchen. 

They were right, of course, he did need to rest, but it was like his entire body was vibrating with something under the surface. He sat up straight at the very edge of the couch, wrists resting on his knees, hands rhythmically clenching and unclenching. He needed to move, he needed to do something, he needed to be _useful_ , it felt like there was pressure building in his chest, so much that he felt like he would burst, but he had to sit still, he couldn’t move, they told him to rest, and he had to behave, because he knows what happens when he doesn’t behave.

He didn’t bother to blink back his tears. Hell, he could barely feel the tears pricking at his eyes anyway, how could he? The whole world was blurring around him, he couldn’t pick anything out, but everything was _so much._ He just wanted to curl up and hide, to make it stop, to make it all stop, but he had to be still. He had to behave. He _had_ to. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body locking up. He heard movement around him, but he couldn’t place it, he couldn’t place _anything,_ so he didn’t react, didn’t even bother opening his eyes.

It took him a minute to realize that someone was talking to him, and even then, he couldn’t pick out any words. He tried to focus on the sound of the voice—maybe he could at least tell which of his boyfriends was trying to talk to him—but the effort made his head pound. Someone grabbed his arm and his heart raced. He had to get out, he had to go, but he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to, his entire body was frozen. 

They lifted him off the couch, but he barely registered. He felt weightless, like he wasn’t there. And then he was laying on something soft, curling his body inward, and the lights were just a bit dimmer, and slowly sounds were coming back into focus. He could pick out words, “scared” and “okay” mostly, but he still wasn’t sure who was saying what, and his head still pounded when he opened his eyes, so he kept them shut and buried his face into the softness below him, trying to calm the electricity buzzing under his skin. The room grew blissfully quiet.

He wasn’t sure where the pain stopped and the exhaustion set in—the line was blurry, and if he was being honest, the exhaustion was present before and the pain still present now—but when he heard John’s voice whispering to him, he knew he had to be alright. He could pick out John’s voice now, he couldn’t do that earlier ( _why_ couldn’t he do that earlier?) and the thought calmed him slightly.

“Why don’t you get some sleep,” John whispered, “and we can talk in the morning?”

Wilbur hummed in agreement, already struggling to keep his eyes. open, and mumbled a slurred “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Xander added. 

Wilbur felt a hand rest on his shoulder and tensed. The hand was gone in an instant, and Xander whispered an apology that Wilbur would’ve waved away without a second thought if he had the energy. Instead, he craned his head to look at John and Xander and croaked out through his dry throat, “Stay? Please?”

“Of course we’ll stay,” John said, hovering his hand over Wilbur’s arm. Wilbur nodded, almost imperceptibly, and John gently began to rub circles against his skin. The buzzing feeling was gone, and now that he knew what was happening, the touch was soothing. He melted into the mattress, mumbling a thank you, and drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

Wilbur woke up to Xander and John sitting a silent vigil next to him. He opened his eyes and groaned at how bright the lights were, immediately shielding his face with the blanket. The room dimmed and he opened his eyes again to see Xander at the window, closing all of the blinds.

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile, “I didn’t even think about that.” He sat back down next to John and reached out to rub Wilbur’s arm. “You feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice still hoarse. John silently passed him a glass of water that he accepted with a weak smile. He sipped it slowly while John talked.

“We finished up dinner and put it in the fridge, so there’s stir fry made if you want some today. And I already talked to Schaeffer, she knows that the three of us aren’t coming in today.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know I didn’t have to. But I did.” John hesitated for a moment, then pressed a kiss to Wilbur’s forehead. “You need a day to rest. And we want to be here for you.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Wilbur finished the glass of water and curled into John’s side, closing his eyes as John ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to break the silence, but a wave of guilt washed over him. He should’ve controlled himself better, what was he thinking? Here he was, exhausted and shaken for no reason. He’d never broken down like that before. He’d always been in control. The last time he wasn’t in control was—

_No_ , he wasn’t going to think about that. He shifted so his face was pressed into John’s shoulder.

“Do you… Do you want to talk about it?” Xander asked, moving to put a hand on Wilbur’s back.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said, pulling away from John. He crossed his legs and stared resolutely at his hands, not wanting to make eye contact.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” John said. 

“No, I need to do this, or else I might not… I need to do it now.” He started clenching and unclenching his hands again. 

After a long moment of silence, Xander spoke up again. “Why don’t we go start on breakfast and you can tell us later—”

“No!” Wilbur almost shouted. He froze, then, in a controlled voice, said, “No, I need to do this now, I just… I don’t know where to start.”

“Do you want us to ask you questions?” John asked. Wilbur nodded, still staring down at his hands. “Okay. Do you know why you haven’t been sleeping or eating well lately?”

“I… I think so. I mean, I don’t know _why,_ but it’s… I don’t ever _feel_ tired. Or hungry. I know I need to eat and sleep but I can’t just do it because I don’t know, and then suddenly I’m passed out on the floor and everyone is so worried and you all keep telling me that I need to take care of myself but I _can’t_ and I—” He cut himself off with a sob—oh god, when did he start crying?—and felt that same pressure build up in his chest. He tried to push it down. Not now, not again.

John and Xander were quiet for a moment before John spoke up. “Wil, this is going to sound a little weird, but if I ask you some questions, will you answer them honestly?” Wilbur wiped away his tears and nodded. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

“Do you ever bump into things or hurt yourself and not feel it? Or feel way too much?”

Wilbur laughed through his tears, the tension in his chest lightening up. “You know I have a high pain tolerance, Johnathan, I always have.”

“Yeah, of course I know, just asking.” He put a hand on Wilbur’s arm with a soft smile. Wilbur glanced up at Xander. 

“You going to ask me anything?” he joked. But Xander shook his head much more seriously than Wilbur was expecting.

“No, I… I think these are questions John needs to ask.”

“Alright then,” he said, brow furrowing. “Ask away.”

“Are you sure?” John started, “Because we can stop if you need.”

“No, really, I’m fine. Go ahead.”

“As long as you’re sure." He squeezed Wilbur’s arm. “Has there ever been a time where you haven’t been able to tell what you’re feeling? Like… you’re angry, but you can’t tell until suddenly you snap, and you’re wondering how you didn’t notice before? Or maybe you still don’t notice?”

Oh.

That one hit a little too close to home. Wilbur was always the subject of whispers around PEIP. Famous—or maybe infamous—for his short temper. Bt he never _meant_ to snap, and when he did, he always immediately regretted it. He would promise himself that it wouldn’t happen again, but it’s like his anger would sneak up on him. He never noticed until it was too late. 

He didn’t respond, but John must’ve been able to tell, because he gave Wilbur’s arm another reassuring squeeze before continuing.

“This one is going to sound weird, but when you sit really still, can you feel your heartbeat?”

Wilbur laughed again. “Yeah, that does sound really weird because literally everyone can do that.”

“Wil, that’s not… Most people can’t do that.”

Wilbur glanced at Xander, who shook his head slightly. 

Right. “Of course I’m not normal,” he spat under his breath. He glanced back at Xander, unwilling to meet John’s eyes. _Shit,_ he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Wil, that’s not…” John sighed and shifted closer to Wilbur, moving his hand to Wilbur’s leg. “I’m asking you because I get it. Those are all things that I experience all the time. Which is why I wanted to ask. Last night, it… it looked a lot like what my shutdowns _feel_ like, and I thought maybe… those were all things I learned were part of my autism. And it took me a while to connect that there was a _reason_ I did those things. And if there’s any chance at all that you have a reason too… I want you to know. I know what it’s like not knowing, and I want you to know.”

“I could… There could be a reason?” he whispered, not willing to let his hope get away from him. 

“There could be a reason,” John repeated. “It’s going to be a process, there’s not a lot of people that will diagnose this late, but if you want to try.”

“I do.” He didn’t even hesitate. It didn’t matter that it would probably mean even more testing just after he’d finally stopped being dragged in every two days by the doctors at PEIP. It didn’t matter that it would be long and difficult and probably more than he could handle alone. He didn’t have to handle it alone. And he wanted answers. They were just within his reach now, and he wanted them so bad. “Is there… Is there anything else?” 

“Well, there’s that,” John said, gesturing to Wilbur’s hands. He was still clenching and unclenching them rhythmically. “Can you stop doing it?”

“Oh, yeah,” he stammered, lacing his fingers together. “Sorry.”

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant, sorry. I just meant that… well, actually, how do you feel now that you’ve stopped?”

He thought for a second. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the pressure and the buzzy feeling was back, though not nearly as bad as it was the night before. Or had it just started when he’d stopped? He considered. “I feel… buzzy. Like there’s something I need to let out, but I can’t.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Is that a thing too?”

“Yeah, that’s sort of what I feel like when I can’t stim.”

“That’s stimming?” Wilbur looked down at his hands again. He’d only ever seen John flap his hands or pace. It was always so visible. At least, he thought it was. Maybe he was wrong.

“A lot of things are. Like listening to the same song over and over. Or deep pressure, like weighted blankets or having someone lay on you. It’s all self-soothing stuff, or to express emotions, and it can be really draining if you force yourself not to.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.” He was buzzing with unanswered questions now, dying for more information, but his growling stomach cut him off before he could ask anything else.

“Why don’t we get some breakfast, and you can ask me more while we eat. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” He squeezed John’s hand and stood up, turning to kiss Xander quickly before they all made their way to the kitchen. Wilbur had an answer now, or at least an idea. He was going to _get_ an answer.

Everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!  
> <3
> 
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